


Dreams of the Wolf.

by Nolavera



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nolavera/pseuds/Nolavera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Syndre Lavellan always thought that home was where the clan was, even if her kin barely tolerated her. But when her Keeper sends her to the Conclave and all hell breaks loose she begins to realise that perhaps she deserved better than her clan ever gave her and that maybe this Inquisition is exactly where she belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A/N: Everything you recognise belongs to Bioware.  
________________________________________  
Syndre toyed with the corner of a faded page as she lounged on a dew damp log near enough to the fire that the warmth of blaze reached her, but far enough away that she was spared the embarrassment of no one choosing to sit with her. One booted foot lightly scuffed along the dirt track she had worn into the ground as green eyes greedily drank in the words of the heavy book she held close to her chest.  
The young elf had traded three of her best wood carvings for the history tome in one of the nearby villages that her clan had passed by in their travels south.  
What an old human could have possibly wanted with carvings of the elven gods was beyond her but the man had seemed very pleased with the trade, as was she. Perhaps the man had simply thought them pretty tokens.  
Shifting against the hardness of the dead wood beneath her in an attempt to get comfortable, she turned the page and read on.  
This particular book was an epic endeavour covering all the religious beliefs that were known throughout Thedas, from the teaching of the Chantry to the Seers of Rivain. Naturally the book was heavy with information about the Chant and Andraste, for it was the farthest reaching religion in Thedas. It was woefully lacking in areas though. She found that the Gods of the Dalish were mentioned little, as were the followers and teachings of the Qun. A shame really. She found the inner workings of the Qun to be fascinating from what little she had read on the subject.  
A particularly loud rumble of laughter drew her attention from the pages in front of her, and she shifted once more.  
The rest of her clan were gathered around the large campfire that was situated in the center of their current encampment. The merry lot sat closely with each other and shared the days hunt, laughing and talking loudly over the meal.  
Judging by the smell that reached her nose the hunters had caught deer that day. The smoky sent of the venison made her mouth water and her stomach protested loudly at its neglect. She realised she hadn't eaten since before dawn that morning.  
However, she ignored the twinging hunger and forced her attention back to the words in front of her. She would eat once the others had gone to bed.  
It was getting late and soon enough the stories and songs would begin and the young elf would have to find somewhere else to read if she wanted peace. Finding a more secluded spot and reading by magelight was always an option, even if the white light of her magic was less welcoming than the warm glow given off from the fire.  
Darkness slowly crept over the page she was reading and obscured the words from sight.  
She looked up.  
A young, female elf was blocking her light.  
"Asharen." Syndre greeted her politely.  
The woman shifted uncomfortably and refused to meet her eyes.  
Even back lit by the fire and thus shrouded in shadow it would have been impossible to miss that this light blocking interloper was breath-taking. Syndre's mouth twisted wistfully as she considered the elf in front of her. Although she couldn't see them for the shade she knew that golden lashed, periwinkle eyes cast an eye over the ground.  
Asharen had always been popular amongst the clan and had been doted on since childhood because of her beauty and skill with a bow. Many of the younger hunters sought her hand, though none thus far had been successful in the endeavour.  
The question was what was the jewel of clan Lavellan doing talking to her?  
"The Keeper has asked for you." She said so softly that Syndre almost missed it. Asharen's beautiful face warped with what Syndre could only identify as distaste as she spoke.  
She guessed that answered that question.  
"Than-"  
Syndre never got to finish her thanks before the woman stalked back towards the fire.  
The retreating elf sat herself between two young hunters and Syndre was once again struck with envy as she admired her. Asharen's hair burned like molten gold in the light of the fire and her skin was an inviting shade of honey. The two hunter's she had situated herself between looked at her questioningly and with concern before turning their eyes on Syndre.  
The accusation that entered their gaze was of little surprise to her. They doubtless thought she had done something to upset the pretty huntress.  
Sighing and ignoring the looks, she closed her book and set it down the side of the log she had been sitting on. No one was likely to have any interest in taking it, she would pick it up later when hopefully the others had gone to bed. A small stasis spell would keep it from being damaged by the wet and mud.  
Standing up she headed out to the clearing that their Keeper liked to frequent. It wasn't a far walk from the north entrance to the Dalish encampment.  
The almost full moon shone down on the clearing, casting silvery light on the floor and setting the trees into deep shadow. The glen was silent. Not even the last leaves on the trees stirred in the cool night air.  
It was a sharp contrast from the bustling campsite she had just come from.  
Deshanna Lavellan stood at the far side of the glen, her elegant, curved staff at her side. It was as much a symbol of her status as it was an aid at this point.  
The elder woman stood with her back to Syndre, eyes trained on the shadows between the trees in front of her.  
Syndre approached her but stopped as the Keeper's lilting tones cut through the clearing.  
"There is trouble on the horizon, Da'len."  
The young elf's browns drew low as she considered her mentor.  
"The hunters have scouted the surrounding area, Hahren. The wolves are silent and the spiders keep their distance. There's nothing here that should trouble the clan." She said, gesturing at the dense forest that surrounded them even though the Keeper could not see the action.  
Still the keeper kept her back to Syndre, as unmoving as the glen itself.  
"This trouble is more dangerous than anything that lurks within these trees."  
The young elf had to suppress the urge to shiver at those words, so ominous were they in nature.  
Some of the tales that their storyteller Nerahel liked to tell them about the creatures that stalked the forest were truly frightful and whilst they were mostly intended to keep the children in the camp, they always held a grain of truth.  
But those threats had never bothered the Keeper. Deshanna knew her clan was well equipped to deal with anything the forest might throw at them.  
But this was different. Fear was written in the lines of the older woman's shoulders, in the way her knuckles shone white around the wood of her staff. It was then that Syndre noticed that Deshanna wasn't still at all. Tremors shook the Keeper's body as she tried to stand upright.  
If their Keeper was worried, they all should be.  
"What do you mean?" Syndre asked, unsure of whether she truly wanted the answer.  
Approaching her elder she put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. The bones were timeworn beneath her hand, frail and likely aching under knotted muscle.  
The keeper turned to Syndre and allowed her protégé to guide her to a nearby boulder and lower her softly onto it. Syndre unfastened the cloak from around her neck and draped it over Deshanna. She hoped the rough linen would reduce the keeper's shaking. The younger elf leaned down to fasten the clasp of the material.  
"What do you know of the Shemlen circles?" The keeper asked quietly.  
Syndre stilled, her fingers static on the fastening.  
"Only what I've read in books."  
Syndre's fascination with life outside of the Dalish was well known but generally ignored.  
Why would the keeper be asking about it now?  
Straightening and crossing her arms, she continued.  
"It's where the humans keep their mages. They spend their whole lives there – training and learning about magic under the eyes of those who came before them. It's a safe place but their freedom is limited. The circles are maintained by an arm of the chantry, the Templars. "  
"True enough Da'len." The keeper nodded. "These circles were…dissolved some time ago."  
Syndre's arms dropped to her sides as she stared at her mentor in silence. Deshanna looked at her calmly but didn't continue.  
The careful manner in which her teacher chose her words was telling. The circles weren't something you just disbanded, clearly there was more going on than her advisor let on.  
"The circles rebelled." She asked, voice so quiet that it was almost lost in the night air.  
"So the others say. They tell me a war has begun in earnest and that this…chantry has no power to stop it." Deshanna said, gently laying her staff across her cloak covered lap.  
A war? And one that the chantry could not control. It was between the Mages and Templars then?  
If the Templars had gone rogue…  
Syndre began to pace. The noise of her leather boots crunching through the leaf litter was almost offensive in the quiet. Stopping suddenly she looked at her mentor.  
"Why are you telling me this?" She asked.  
Sighing, Deshanna's golden eyes turned steely in the moonlight.  
"Da'len, you know as well as I that a war like this one will breach this forest eventually."  
Syndre nodded and resumed her pacing.  
She was right, of course. A war of that magnitude would leave no corner of Thedas untouched.  
The Templar order was renowned for its resolve and dedication, or so she had read. To believe that the Templars would stop after subduing the rebellion would be hopeful at best and fatal at worst. If it was as bad as the Keeper seemed to believe, then the Templars wouldn't stop until they had purged all mages.  
And whilst she couldn't speak for anyone else, she rather liked her head where it was.  
Why was the keeper telling her though? Sure, she knew more about humans that most of the Dalish but the keeper was hardly ill informed.  
"What do you need me to do?" She asked.  
The older woman's eyes softened as she looked at her first.  
"The woman who heads this Chantry is calling a meeting. I hear that she hopes to broker peace between the mages and their Templars. There will be representatives from all over Thedas present at these peace talks." Deshanna said, voice firm. "You will be among them, Da'len."  
She would be…?  
"You want me to spy on them?" She asked. The incredulity of the request threatened to crack her voice but she managed to keep it together. Mostly.  
"Da'len. You know I would not ask this of you if there was any other way. This war will reach the Dalish eventually if it is not stopped." Deshanna countered. "I will not have it threaten our people."  
Deshanna was right, of course. Surely the Dalish had as much right to be present at these talks as anyone else. The Dalish harboured mages among them, their fate was in the balance too.  
Her fate.  
"And you think this will help?" She enquired, looking at her mentor expectantly.  
Deshanna shook her head and her knuckles once again flexed white around the haft of her stave. The action struck Syndre as being oddly sad and uncertain.  
Terror creeped through her consciousness at the sight.  
Never had she witnessed their Leader like this, so lost and…powerless.  
"That I cannot say but pretending that it is not happening will certainly not help this clan." Came the Keeper's voice which was still steady despite her contradicting actions.  
"And what of the other clans? Would they agree with this?" Syndre asked, folding her arms across her chest.  
"The other Keepers may send their own representatives, I do not know what they plan. I can only speak for Clan Lavellan." The Keeper stood, her well-earned authority seeping back into the older woman. Her voice was hard as she continued. "Forewarned is forearmed, Da'len. I would know of this danger."  
"Of course, Hahren." Syndre nodded. She was relieved to see the familiar certainty of her mentor. "When are the negotiations?"  
"You will leave with the dawn. One of our hunters will take you to the nearest village, there you shall find passage to Haven." The Keeper explained.  
"The temple of Sacred Ashes?"  
"The very same Da'len. This is why I must send you. You know more of these humans than any of the other members of this clan, and many are still blinded by their hatred. Our best hopes of information lie with you."  
Deshanna approached her First and clasped her lightly on the shoulder. There was warmth in the Keeper's amber eyes as she looked at Syndre and something she thought looked oddly like pride.  
Syndre's chest swelled with the emotion.  
"I won't let you down." She sniffed, raising her chin.  
"I know that, child." Deshanna assured her gently. "For now let us return to the fire, Nerahel will begin her tales shortly."  
"If it's all the same, Hahren, I think I will turn in for the evening." Syndre said.  
"Of course, Da'len. You have a long journey ahead of you."  
Deshanna fought to quell the terrible feeling of dread that settled in her stomach as she watched the young woman she considered family walk away.  
Syndre rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she made her way through the campsite. Dawn had barely broken and the morning was dyed a dark grey, a remained of the storm that had raged through the night.  
She found the Keeper standing by the aravel closest to the edge of the camp, where she waited patiently for her groggy First.  
"Da'len." She greeted fondly as Syndre shuffled over.  
A curt nod was the only greeting that Syndre was capable of so early in the morning. Dropping her pack in the group, she yawned and stretched. The young elf almost purred when all of her bones popped just right.  
The Keeper regarded the younger woman with amusement as she handed Syndre back the cloak she had lent her last night. Slinging it haphazardly around her shoulders, her fingers fumbled with the clasp.  
"Taerel and Lirill will guide you to the village. They will see you through the forest swiftly." The Keeper told her as two of the Clan's hunters approached. Handing Syndre a heavy purse she went on. "Take this, child. This coin should be enough for you to reach Haven and for you to return after these talks."  
Syndre accepted the purse and secured it to her belt, under her cloak.  
"Take care." The Keeper looked at her surrogate daughter and quelled the feeling of dread once more. Wrapping her frail arms around the young woman and whispered softly. "I would not place you in such danger were it not necessary."  
"I know, Keeper." She assured her, returning the affectionate embrace. "I promise to return with news as quickly as I can."  
"May the dread wolf never hear your steps, Da'len." The older woman said, cupping Syndre's cheek.  
"Dareth Shiral, Hahren." She nodded and smiled.  
The smiled faded quickly, however, as Syndre watched Deshanna walk back to the camp to attend to her duties.  
Footsteps sounded softly behind her.  
"Come, Seth'lin." The insult was casual in delivery and quiet enough that the retreating leader of their clan could not hear it.  
The name might have been one that she had lived with almost all of her life but it still managed to sting. She trailed behind her clan mates as they headed out, far enough away that she didn't risk engaging them in conversation but close enough that they didn't have reason to reprimand her for falling behind.  
The forest was dense around them as they headed out of the camp. The greenery glistened from the rain that had fallen heavily before the dawn. But the land smelled fresh – renewed by the life sustaining waters. The ground had been softened by the downpour but not so much that it presented the party with any problems.  
The two hunters moved through the brush with expected ease, their shoulders pressed close together, as they walked before her. Both had their weapons sheathed, clearly they sensed no danger here.  
Hew own staff – a slender stave of shaped ironbark – was in her hand. She had been tempted to leave it behind. After all, the sight of a mage among humans was one thing but a lone, Dalish mage would raise some questions. She resolved to get rid of it before they reached the first town, there was no need to draw unwanted attention to her party.  
After all, even without it she wasn't defenseless.  
The stave served its purpose for now, however, in helping her navigate the treacherous terrain. As first of her clan she rarely ventured outside of the camp in the way that the hunters did. And when she did it was only ever to trade in the occasional nearby village.  
Light from the canopy above dappled the forest around her, a kaleidoscope of illumination and shadow. It would have been a serene journey through the trees were Syndre not been aware of what awaited her at outside of the forest. If she wasn't burdened by Deshanna's faith in her. She proud that Deshanna trusted her with the task but she was worried that she would fail her mentor.  
Nonetheless, she tried to enjoy the sweet chorus of the song birds and the gentle rustling of the leaves as she passed them.  
The heavy cloak she was stifling in the heat of the forest and the elf pulled at the collar in a vain hope to ease her discomfort. Her body wasn't used to long treks over challenging terrain. When her clan moved she normally stayed with the aravels and the halla. Those would never be able to climb over the land as her party did now. The hills they climbed were steep and the muscles in her thighs ached with the exertion.  
She supposed that it was something she would perhaps get used to over the length of this journey.  
After all, moving between points might not always be easy. Syndre didn't have a guide and she had certainly never been outside of the Free Marches. All her knowledge of anything beyond the land she was born in came from the books and maps she happened across. She knew that she would need to cross the Waking Sea to reach Ferelden but from there on she would have to trust that people would be willing to direct her towards Haven.  
Syndre looked down at herself. If the tattoos adorning her face weren't indication enough of her origin then what she wore certainly would be. She would have to pick up a change of attire at the first town, if she wanted to have any hope of blending in. The tattoos though, were less easily hidden.  
A lone Dalish would be seen to be an easy target.  
Syndre looked once more at her reluctant guides. Neither had spoken to her in the hours since they had left.  
They still walked close together, hands brushing together and fingers almost entangling before playfully pulling back. Lirill's smile was bright as she looked at Taerel, who seemed as equally pleased in his partner. Lirill's golden locks were pulled back from her face but some loose wisps of spun gold of danced merrily around her cheeks as she laughed at something Taerel said.  
Whenever she pulled away he followed, much in the same way that a flower follows the gilded light of the sun.  
Syndre's chest felt tight as she watched the two interact, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment but too enthralled by the interaction to look away.  
What must it feel like to be so in love?  
She blushed and dropped her eyes when Taerel noticed her watching. His features were dark now, robbed of the sun as he flicked his clenched jaw in her direction. Lirill eyes followed the gesture and the sweet looking elf appeared more embarrassed than angry as she noticed the mortified First.  
"Where do you think the Keeper is sending her?" Lirill asked, putting more space between her and her apparent paramour. She spoke softly but Syndre could still hear what she said.  
"I don't know." Taerel shrugged and allowed the new distance. His voice was restrained as her replied. "Who cares, though? We finally get rid of her."  
The blonde elf winced slightly at her partner's words but didn't protest as she simply nodded her head in agreement.  
"Failure."  
Syndre's ears burned as her head bowed even lower. Slowing her steps she fell further behind.  
The trees were beginning to thin out, allowing for more of the orange light from the setting sun to reach the forest floor. It painted the forest in tones of burnt sienna and umber. With it, however, came the beginnings of the evening chill and Syndre pulled the rough spun material of her cloak closer.  
The terrain flattened as they pressed on and the dense needle beds below their feet gave way to soft grass. She could see the edge of the forest now and the flat plains that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond, as far as the eye could see. It was farmland, she supposed, given the neat sectioning of the plains.  
That likely meant that there would be a town fairly nearby were she would be able to gather information and invest in a change of clothes.  
Taerel and Lirill stopped at the brink and turned to wait for her to catch up.  
It was a kind gesture, really. And one she was surprised at.  
The warmth in her chest at the act did not last long, however.  
Taerel crossed his arms over his chest and nodded towards the field as he sidestepped to let her through.  
She looked at the man, confused. Surely he didn't expect her to lead the way. She didn't know which direction they should be headed in.  
Sudden realisation twisted in her gut.  
Of course. How could she have been so stupid?  
They had no intention of going any further, despite the orders from their Keeper.  
"This is as far as we take you, Seth'lin." Taerel grunted, foot tapping against the soft earth.  
Syndre said nothing, just raised her hood and straightened her back, shifting the pack she carried to a more comfortable position.  
Lirill did not meet her eyes as she passed between them and Taerel continued to tap relentlessly.  
She stepped beyond the trees and paused. Her heart raced within her breast now and sweat beaded coldly on her brow. The wind blew more strongly in the exposed flatlands but it was still little more than a breeze that stirred her cloak around her legs. The sky was on the cusp of turning dark, the orange of the sunset flowing onto the encroaching night.  
She turned to her kin, who still stood within the forest's familiar embrace.  
"Dareth Shiral, Lethallin."  
She ignored the man's huff of indignation as she took her first step beyond the reach of her clan.


	2. The Beyond

A/N: Anything you recognise belongs to Bioware.  
________________________________________  
It was cold, in the darkness. The kind of chill that seeps deep within ones bones and tickles them painfully and without mercy. Shivering, Syndre blinked slowly against the murkiness, eyes bleary in that way they so often are after just waking. Rubbing at the organs did little to ease the haze, though the biting coldness of her fingertips temporarily soothed the pain around the sockets.  
Her head throbbed with a slow and heavy rhythm. Her body hurt indiscriminately. And by the Dread Wolf, even her teeth seemed to ache.  
A loud groan escaped deep from within her chest and she found that the sound echoed strangely around her in the dull void that she found herself within.  
It was as though the sound hadn't come from her at all but had instead drifted in on the swirling shadows.  
Ignoring the sharp protesting of her muscles the young elf sat up and clasped one arm protectively around her middle – a futile attempt to ease the ache found there. Even though her vision cleared somewhat as she sat there dullness still danced mockingly at the edges of her periphery. But she could see now that it wasn't darkness that surrounded her at all. Instead the vast and seemingly empty landscape was awash with gloomy shades of green and blue.  
She was in the Beyond then.  
Yet it wasn't the Beyond as she had ever experienced it. It was as though someone had painted over the dreamscape with watered down ink.  
Something wasn't right.  
And that thought settled in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight.  
Struggling to her feet, the elf considered her surroundings. Wherever it was she found herself now, it wasn't any part of the dreamscape she had ever visited before. The gloom just seemed to go on and on forever.  
Her body shook almost violently with the exertion of standing.  
This was obviously a dream, well a nightmare in truth, and thus she knew that the pain she experienced here wasn't real…but her body burned with sympathetic pain. The body knew what it would feel like in waking life with such injuries. It remembered.  
Her breathing turned shallow as she quivered under the onslaught.  
She moved out into the emptiness, hoping that she would wake up soon but knowing deep down that it was a vain hope. Waking up from a nightmare had never been one of her strong suits and this one was unlikely to be any different.  
But this? This wasn't exactly her usual nightmare.  
The barely there shadows that surrounded her twisted and moved with her. It reminded Syndre of the film of smoke that surrounds a campfire as danced on the wind.  
Silence prevailed in this place and it niggled at her thoughts like rats gnawing at a carcass. It was like…like there was something she was supposed to remember.  
What was it?  
There were no spirits here and no demons either. The infernal whispers that often came with being a mage were mute.  
And oddly enough that wasn't a thought that provided her with any measure of relief. If this were truly the Beyond then she should have come across something. A playful wisp or a spirit of valor or a desire demon. Something. Anything.  
But there was nothing.  
No…wait. That wasn't true. There was something.  
A resonance with the gloom.  
It sounded like…dripping? A slow drip with lengthy pauses between each impact like raindrops falling from leaves after a storm. They were loud, these drops, as though laden when they hit the ground.  
Fat droplets with a great distance to fall.  
She searched for the source around her but found nought, there was nothing around her that it could possibly be coming from.  
Looking to the ground, however, she found what she had been looking for. Three generous droplets of liquid lay splattered on the ground around her boots.  
The fluid was a bright shade of green, the colour of budding Elfroot leaves that unfurled in the beginnings of spring. They were a stark contrast against the dark ground. Her eyes were drawn as another drop slowly fell to join the others.  
The sound of the impact rang louder in her ears than it should have.  
She slowly took her left hand away from its place on her side. The tunic she wore was soaked through with the mysterious fluid, a dark stain left under her hand.  
Whatever it was, it was coming for her.  
There was a gash, deep and angry looking, down the center of her palm. The thick fluid seeped from there like blood.  
By the Gods, how had she not felt the injury or the wetness against her skin?  
The niggling was back but more insistent this time as she reflected on the injury. It prodded and poked at her, willing her to remember whatever it was that she had forgotten.  
Another drop fell from her elevated palm. The strange, barely there light of the place caught the droplet. It flashed in the murk, like the scales of a fish under the moonlight or like the reflective eyes of a wolf in the forest.  
Eyes…something about eyes. Too many..?  
The memory of the spider chase hit her like a Sylvan branch to the guy as it seared in her mind. Crying out once more the sharp sound resounded about her as she struggled to control her heaving breath.  
How could she have possibly forgotten?  
Syndre whipped around, her body objecting to the abuse as her eyes darted frantically from side to side as they scanned the darkness.  
But there was nothing to be found. There were no eyes in fog and the sounds of scrambling limbs was blessedly absent.  
She was alone in the seemingly endless vacuum.  
That hadn't been the case before though. There had been a woman with her previously.  
It was the last thing the elf could recall before she had woken up in the Beyond. The woman, who appeared in her mind's eye as little more than a glowing figured bathed in green light, had been reaching out to her as she fled the spiders. Had she been trying to save her?  
Or had this woman failed to do so?  
Perhaps that was how she came to be in this place.  
The wound on her hand…had the mysterious woman done that to? It was the hand she had reached out to her with, after all.  
Was the woman the cause? Did that make her foe?  
Not that it really mattered at this point anyway. Regardless of the answer she was alone now with only the grainy haze for company.  
The ripping sound of cloth was almost obscene as she tore at the hem of her tunic. The linen immediately began to turn dark as she wrapped it haphazardly around her palm in an attempt to stem the bleeding. In truth the liquid seemed too viscous to be blood, not to mention the wrong colour but the Fade had funny a way of twisting things. Who knew what the strange fluid really was.  
What she wouldn't have given for some of Nen's healing expertise right then.  
Trying to ignore the various aches and pains that assailed her battered body she pressed on. What or whom she was looking for she wasn't sure. Never before had she seen the Beyond like this – faded and muted.  
She would just have to wander and hope that she stumbled upon something or woke up from this strange dream, whichever happened to come first.  
The soft leather of the boots she wore made almost no noise as she walked, the smoke still swirling around her body almost lovingly with each step she took. There were no landmarks here for her to remember and keep track of her progress. She worried her lip as she looked around. What if she got lost?  
Could she truly even get lost in nothing?  
It was impossible to gauge how long she walked without the guidance of the sun and stars but it felt like hours. The only measurement of the passing time was the liquid oozing from her moving up and through the cloth around her palm. The material was almost completely saturated with the fluid.  
Her legs were beginning to shake with exertion and the elf wanted nothing more than to sit down and never stand up again.  
She had to keep moving.  
Just because there were no demons now didn't mean that small piece of good fortune would hold.  
Just as that thought crossed her mind her eyes focused before her. The blues and teals up ahead were different, brighter. There was something over there.  
Hope bloomed in her chest at the sight and she pushed her tired limbs with renewed effort.  
As she neared the bright spot it became apparent that the strange new light came from what appeared to be a campfire. The flames roared high and were almost blinding as she approached.  
The eerie silence eventually gave way to the familiar sounds of the clan she grew up in.  
Now this, this was familiar.  
Moving into the camp she was surprised to see that none of the elves surrounding her took any notice of her presence. They carried on with their daily tasks as though they were not being watched. A thick layer of trees began to fade in around the camp, as though from nothing. They enveloped the habitation in a warm embrace of pine and spruce.  
She almost felt like she was home.  
The scene played out exactly as it had in her waking life. The hunters walked with purpose and some of them had the spoils of a day's hunt thrown over their shoulders. Others stood and spoke amongst themselves whilst some of the elder woman mended clothes and prepped the evening meal. Even here, the little ones ran around the adults, giggling loudly and smiling as they no doubt wreaked havoc.  
Syndre smiled fondly at the scene.  
Her arm was still wrapped around her middle as she pressed further in and she tried to avoid bumping into any of the reflections of her kin lest she disturb them and draw unwanted attention. Just because they were indifferent to her presence now didn't mean they would remain as such.  
The flames of the fire burned invitingly as she approached though it gave out no true warmth. The writhing dance of the element made her sleepy as she watched on.  
Finally, she could take it no more. She had to rest.  
Sitting by the inferno she rested her back against a fallen log.  
Still the others ignored her presence.  
The Keeper or Nerahel were nowhere to be found in the camp, she noted. Even if these projections of her clan had been aware of her there wouldn't have been a friendly face amongst them.  
She drew her knees up to her chest, finding it very difficult to care about the griping of her injured side. Her head fell heavily upon her raised knees and she sighed quietly.  
She was so tired.  
Her eyelids were heavy and she found she could hold them up no longer.  
There were no demons here.  
She would rest. Just for a little while.  
What was the harm?  
Syndre felt groggy as she came to, though this was nothing unusual. Aching still prevailed throughout her body she noted and she moaned quietly in response.  
Still in the Beyond, then?  
The urge to cry threatened to overwhelm the elf as she lifted her head from her knees. The campfire now burned low as though hours had truly passed whilst she "slept".  
Shivering even though it wasn't truly cold, she looked around.  
Her heart moved into her throat as she took in the scene around her.  
The camp was still now. All the fade versions of her kin had sat down on the logs that were situated around the fire but there was no boisterous chat or singing or stories.  
They were all looking at her. Staring.  
Their faces were familiar but somehow not. She knew them all, of course. Had known almost all of them since her childhood.  
But they were different.  
They were wrong.  
Unwavering eyes watched her as she slowly began to climb to her feet. These were not the shining elven eyes, in hues of green and gold, which she was used to. No, these were they eyes of something else. They shined like orbs of polished obsidian in the sockets, soulless and dead.  
These were the eyes of nothing that wished her well.  
Gone were the sun kissed tones that marked them as people of land, they were pale and bruised instead. Their faces were gaunt as though someone had stretched the mottled skin too tightly over their skulls.  
They were wrong. All wrong.  
There was no moving, no breathing from the creatures. Just silence and watchfulness.  
It felt like bugs scuttled along her skin as the delicate hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Her breath came to her in shallow, short pulses as she considered her options.  
Whatever they were they hadn't attacked her but she wasn't waiting around to find out if they were going to change their minds on that one. There was only one thing she could do.  
She ran.  
She leapt neatly over the log behind her and into the trees that surrounded her.  
Don't look back. Do not look back.   
She ran as hard and as fast as she could through the thicket of branches she had fled into, the limbs of the plants as much a hindrance and they were a harbour. They scratched at her skin and snagged at her hair but if anything followed her they would face the same problems. Her breath was sharp and deafening in her ears and her body begged her to stop. But she didn't.  
The foliage that surrounded her didn't thin out as she expected it to. In fact, it did the opposite. Eventually the trunks around her became so thick and the space between each individual tree so small she was forced to slow.  
Determined though she slid between the trunks and further into the dark forest.  
Her breathing began to slow now that she had been paced but her heart still thundered in her ears.  
Finally daring to turn the elf found that nothing appeared to have followed her.  
Stopping, she leaned over and put her hands on her knees. She dragged breath in through her open mouth, the cool air soothing her tortured lungs.  
She couldn't…  
She collapsed then, in the small circle of trees.  
There was no sky above her as she lay there on her back. It was just a thick canopy of gnarled and twisting branches. No breeze comforted her and no birds sang sweet songs to the dawn. Even the familiar smell of pine was lost to her here.  
Tears stung at her ears and scratched at her throat.  
She just wanted this nightmare to be over.  
Closing her eyes she choose to concentrate on breathing, keeping her ears pealed in case anything had managed to follow her.  
She wasn't sure she had it in her to run anymore even if they had.  
Of course, she could always use her magic to defend herself if need be but the last thing she needed right now was to draw a horde of demons to her.  
In. Out. In. Out.   
A loud snap reverberated around her and her eyes slowly opened.  
She was so tired.  
Her head fell to the side to face the direction of the noise.  
Syndre didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.  
It wasn't a mockery of one of her kin that stood at the edges of the trees but a wolf.  
Laughter bubbled in her throat.  
Was this it?  
Had the Dread Wolf come for her?  
He was a large creature, easily twice the size of any wolf she had happened across in real life. The colouring was different from what she had ever seen too. He lacked the shading of the timber wolves – there was no greys and brows in this animal's thick pelt. Instead he was entirely white with the only counter shade in his colouring being the black around his eyes and muzzle. It was a compelling contrast.  
She rather thought him beautiful.  
The disparity between the dazzling animal and the surrounding gloom nipped at her eyes but she couldn't look away.  
He circled her warily and sniffed at the air.  
Those grey eyes were unsettling as they sized her up, the animal's blackened lips pulling back to reveal a mouthful of sharp teeth. The intelligence in the orbs was obvious as the predator stalked his prey, the animal's great shoulder rolling sinuously under heavy muscle.  
This was certainly no ordinary wolf.  
She closed her eyes and waited for that first painful bite.  
So tired.  
The padding of his paws was so soft as he moved around her that she struggled to guess where he was in relation to her. She was relaxed though, as she waited for the inevitable and her breath came in calming waves for the first time since she had woken up there. Even the pain seemed less now, like she was no longer truly in her own body.  
"Be swift. Be silent. Strike true; do not waver. And let not your pray suffer." Syndre whispered, the mantra ghosting across her lips.  
The stalking stopped.  
Sage eyes met molten silver as she pried open her heavy lids.  
The immense canid was looking at her once more but he had ceased his menacing. Instead the animal sat back on his haunches and merely watched her, his heavy head tilted to the side in a way that reminded her of an overly large puppy.  
Laughter tickled at her throat once again.  
"And here I thought the Dread Wolf was supposed to be...well dreadful." She giggled, the sound caught on the edge of a sob.  
At that moment Syndre would have sworn that the wolf looked less than impressed with her assessment. If wolves could have rolled their eyes he would have, she guessed. A growl rumbled menacingly in his chest but that just made her giggle more.  
She yelped though, her hysteria cut short, when something cold and wet pressed into her left palm and caused the knotted material to dig into the cut there.  
"Okay, okay." She appealed, as though the animal understood her and would stop prodding at the wound. "I'm sorry I insulted your dreadfulness, alright? Just stop."  
Her appeasement trailed off on a whimper as she curled in on herself and cradled her injured hand to her chest. He didn't stop though, his great body crowding over her as he nuzzled at her hand.  
She didn't understand, what did it want?  
No teeth had pierced her skin. No claws had torn her flesh. What was going on?  
Teeth tugged at her makeshift bandage yet the animal's nipping at the cloth was surprisingly gentle but insistent.  
"Alright, I get it." Grumbling she pushed at the wolf's chest, which gave with surprising ease as the animal backed off just enough that she no longer was overwhelmed. Falling back on his haunches he looked at her, waiting.  
Such a polite wolf.   
She fumbled at the knot, which was slick with fluid and difficult to manipulate with one hand. But it came loose eventually. The wound stung as she slowly peeled the sticky, saturated cloth away from her palm and her breath hissed through her clenched teeth.  
If possible the gash looked worse than it had before. It gaped grotesquely, like some blood soaked mouth in the middle of her palm, and the skin around it was taking on a tinge eerily similar to the oozing fluid.  
She sighed sadly, knowing there was little she could do about it.  
"Happy now?" She asked the wolf irritably, who still sat patiently as she tossed the rag haphazardly away from her.  
Swearing that he nodded she flopped down on the ground once more, arms splayed wide around her torso as her eyes fell shut.  
He approached again, to her side this time and she found that she wasn't surprised when she felt the animal lay down next to her. Even in such a position she could sense the sheer size of the creature and the heat he gave off almost made her want to snuggle into the warm fur of his side. Almost.  
The wet that pressed into her palm was warm this time as the wolf began to lap at the wound. She was too tired to be shocked by the sensation and she found that it didn't hurt that much. It was merely a minor sting that she struggled to feel over the distant throbbing of the rest of her body.  
The monotonous rhythm of the lapping lulled her to sleep and a distant rumble was the last thing she heard before she surrendered to slumber.


	3. Insensible Introductions

A/N: Anything you recognise belongs to the wonderful Bioware.  
________________________________________  
"Take her to the dungeon. And get me Adan." Cassandra growled at the guardsmen who carried the fugitive roughly between then in a manner that reminded Solas a little too much of a rag doll. "She cannot answer for her crimes if she dies."  
A third recruit who trailed behind the other two clumsily saluted the Seeker and ran out of the large doors of the Chantry. It was a wonder he didn't trip over anyone in his haste to avoid incurring Cassandra's rage.  
"Cassandra, you cannot mean that" The other woman who walked with them panted. She was struggling slightly to keep up with the long, booted stride of the Seeker. "If you want her to live then surely treating her in Adan's is much more suitable?"  
The woman had a pleasant accent as she tried to convince the Seeker not to use the prison. He guessed that she was from a Northern area of Thedas given that and her tawny skin. Antivan, perhaps? She had a point about the prison but healing supplies were moved with more ease than defending a building easily accessed by the masses.  
"Truly, the Seeker may be right." Solas cut in, easily keeping pace with both women. "It would be of no surprise if people tried to harm her, taking into account the nature of the Divine's death. The safest place for her may indeed be the dungeon."  
The scowl that the Seeker had worn since his arrival in Haven darkened, a feat he would have supposed impossible.  
She was a force of nature, this woman. Like a storm she raged. And it seemed like she had no intention of stopping anytime soon. In his short experience of her she had dealt with everything directly and without mercy.  
Already she assigned guilt to the young woman the soldiers had found on the mountaintop.  
The storm does not stop to think if it should tear through a village, it simply does what it is in its nature to do.   
The other woman continued to look uncomfortable about the situation but she agreed nonetheless.  
"Very well then. I will send people to bring any supplies Adan might need to the dungeon."  
The Chantry was buzzing with activity as the probable Antivan left them to carry out her task. Men in armour were rushing throughout the stone building, no doubt on either the orders of Cassandra or the force's Commander.  
The devout also lined the halls.  
They prayed on their knees. Their hushed and fervent whispers echoed off of the sacred stones of the religious house. They were desperate pleas to a God long thought absent.  
A God that had not deigned to save their Most Holy.  
"I want guards stationed outside of her cell." Cassandra ordered another company of guards, who stood patiently awaiting their orders. "If she wakes, you come directly to Leliana or to me. As soon as she wakes, you understand?"  
A curt salute and they disappeared down some stairs that he could only presume led to the Chantry's holding cells.  
"A word, Seeker?" Solas asked the woman who was all but vibrating with barely suppressed wrath, her fists clenching at her side.  
The request was initially met with an indignant noise from the back of Cassandra's throat but that did not bother the mage. He merely held her dark gaze and waited.  
"What is it, apostate?" She snorted.  
"You saw that mark on her hand. It is of magical origin. That much I am certain of." He explained to Cassandra, ignoring the way she addressed him. "I wish to examine it."  
Solas could see the distrust that surfaced in the Seeker's gaze at the request. Unsurprising, really. He was an unfamiliar apostate after all, her caution was hardly unwarranted. Cassandra had people who depended on her for their safety and that he understood.  
He appealed to that side of her. The side that seemed only to want to help and to serve.  
"I came here to help, Cassandra." He affirmed. It was a calm reminder that he had been the one to seek them out and the one to risk his freedom to over said aid.  
"Very well, Solas." She sighed and nodded at the older elf. "You are right, of course. See what you can discover about this mark."  
He watched her leave the chantry then and almost admired the resolve in the woman's stride. The glib dwarf that the Seeker had supposedly dragged to Haven some time before gave her a wide berth as she passed, a wince written quietly in the line of his neat sidestep.  
A storm, indeed.   
Solas turned and headed down the stairs toward the dungeon where they were intending on keeping the prisoner. Soft chanting from above quietened as he descended into the depths of the Chantry. The flagstones were cold against the bareness of his soles but he paid it no heed as he approached the guards outside of the door.  
"Seeker Pentaghast has given me permission to see the prisoner." He stated to the guards.  
The two young men looked at each other but it was difficult to gauge their expressions in the dark corridor. He guessed that neither of them were long out of boyhood and they seemed unsure about how to proceed. No doubt they were confused as to why a strange looking elf was speaking to them with such authority. After all, it was a tragically foreign concept for most humans.  
Before the guards could reach a decision about the validity of the claim the heavy dungeon door creaked open.  
A hooded woman stood in the doorway, imposing in her armour despite the slightness of her.  
"Let him in." She commanded. Her melodic Orlesian accent did not detract from the authority in the tone and the two young guards hastened to move out of his way.  
Leliana moved out of the doorway to allow him entry and the door swung back on its hinges with loud finality.  
"Sister Nightingale." He greeted her.  
"Solas." She nodded at the girl at her feet. "What do you make of all this?"  
The redhead stood over the elf who had curled in on herself as trembling wracked her frail body. Leliana's face was impassive as she watched the unconscious girl twitch.  
She was as calm as Cassandra was not.  
Left hand to Cassandra's right. The unruffled eye to the Seeker's roiling storm.  
The late Divine had chosen her hands well.  
A pained gasp resonated through the cell as jade light flared around them. Magic tingled along Solas' skin, both familiar yet not. It seemed that whatever had caused the mark on the girl's hand, magic was at its root.  
"There is no way to know what we are dealing with a full examination of the mark." Solas looked at the young elf. "But judging from this alone? It is a magic of unidentified origin and it is killing her."  
Both of them fell into silence as they considered the girl. The only sound in the cell was the ragged, shallow breathing of the poor creature before them.  
It was not difficult to see she was in terrible pain.  
"Her dying is not an option. We need her." The words were softly spoken but the edge to the words was unmistakable. "She may be our only insight to what happened at the conclave."  
The door to the cell opened with a loud creak as a small human girl slipped into the room. Silently, she handed a neatly tied up scroll to the Orlesian woman. Leliana accepted with a nod and the girl bowed slightly and left.  
Untying the parchment Leliana briefly cast her eyes over the paper. Her face gave no indication to the nature of the letter.  
"If you'll excuse me, Solas. I have other matters that require my attention."  
"Of course, Sister."  
Leliana exited the room silently and Solas was left alone with the prisoner.  
He looked at the young woman before him. The shaking that assailed her body still persisted, though it was a symptom of the magic that assaulted her rather than the effects of the cold flooring on which she lay. He saw now that her eyes roved desperately behind her lids as she convulsed.  
Kneeling beside her he looked her hand. Her wrists were shackled with some heavy restraints that looked positively monstrous around the delicate bones of her wrists.  
Were these truly the hands of a mass murderer?  
Only time would answer that question. Provided that she lived long enough, of course.  
Everything about her was fragile looking – from the fine line of her jaw and cheekbones to the slimness of her hips and calves. If it wasn't for the markings on her face he would have assumed her still a child. Even the vallaslin that marked her forehead and chin was pale and unassuming; it was difficult to see in the flickering firelight of the cell.  
There was no mistaking that she was Dalish, however.  
Solas' head tilted as he continued to assess the elf. He took her left hand in both of his and turned it palm side up to expose the mark. A single, long digit traced the ragged scar. It was then, as though in response to his touch, a blinding green light erupted from the mutilation once more.  
Unnatural light played along the wall for only a brief moment, dying off as quickly as it had burst to life.  
The elf let out another whimper as the magic sundered her flesh. He held her hand firmly to him as she tried to pull it back into her chest to cradle it once more.  
He could feel the frailty of the veil around her. Regardless of whether this woman had actually cause the explosion at the conclave she was now steeped in death and chaos.  
Her skin was clammy beneath his own as his thumb absently stroked at her but it was soft and lacking any calluses. Not a warrior then, or a huntress. A mage, perhaps? If so then she likely the First to her clan.  
What had she been doing at the conclave?  
Mages were few amongst the Dalish. Surely she was too valuable to her clan to be sent to oversee some Shemlen politics.  
His eyes fell shut as he tried to sense any magic from her.  
The magic from the mark on her hand clung to her though, emanating strongest from that point. If filled her. He could sense nothing beyond it.  
If she truly were a mage, he couldn't sense her power.  
His musing was cut short by the irritable grumbling from whom he could only presume was the healer Cassandra had sent for.  
Solas frowned and stood, the woman's shackled hand falling from his grasp.  
He needed to visit the fade.  
There he might find the answers they all sought.


	4. Her First.

A/N: Everything you recognise belongs to Bioware, I'm just playing in their sandbox.

The pale white light of the dawn barely penetrated the small windows of the cabin that Syndre had all but taken over since the events of the conclave. It was the very same one she had woken up in after she had helped Cassandra close what Solas had claimed was the first rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She had no idea who the house belonged to or…had belonged to but she hoped that she wasn't putting anyone out.

Her dark asylum was still blessedly shrouded in shadows but she doubted that it would last much longer. The morning would come whether she wanted it to or not. She sat on the uncomfortable bed with her back and head pressed against the solid wood of the hut as she stared off into nothingness. Sleep nipped at her unblinking eyes as it had done the entire night, and every other night since waking up in Haven that second time.

They were due to leave for the Hinterland just after dawn, to find this Mother Gisele.

Her eyes followed the slow filtering of the shafts of light until they touched the skirting of the adjacent wall. The newly let in light played off of the slowly falling specs of dust that floated through the air but her eyes saw only fuzzy orbs of white. Outside the birds sang the beginnings of their sweet dawn chorus but the elf did not hear their music.

It was time.

Sighing quietly, she rubbed at her eyes and climbed to her feet. She shrugged into the leather overcoat that the town's blacksmith had crafted especially for her. The light jacket was lined with delicate fur that she assumed was rabbit, grey and soft. It was supposedly going to stave off the Ferelden chill. Personally, she doubted that anything less than a bearskin cloak, possibly two, would be enough to counter the South's blasted weather. Slipping on her gloves she reached for her pack and slung it over one shoulder, the weight hitting her solidly in the back with a dull thud.

Tired eyes fell to the lone letter that adorned the surface of the cabin's only desk. The envelope was finely made, more so than any other she had had the pleasure of handling before. The parchment inside had followed the same lines – the paper being thick and white, though Josephine had said it was a well-liked shade of egg shell. Who actualy cared about the colour of their parchment she was unsure, but she trusted that the Ambassador was better versed in these matters than she.

The wax seal was plain and the front of the envelope was covered in the small, swooping writing of her own hand.

Picking up the letter and slipping it into her pocket she headed out into the morning chill. The small town was mercifully empty as she made her way up to the Chantry, still just too early for the start of the day's duties. Her cheeks burned even in the cold at the memory of walking to the Chantry after waking up in Haven that second time. She didn't think she could handle any more people bowing to her as she went about the village.

"I'm not the Herald of anything, Least of all Andraste."

There was no way that she was what they hoped she was.

The thing on her hand? The foreign power at her center that remained quiet but intrusive?

Whatever those were, they were not the power of the Maker or his prophet.

If only there was some way to make everyone else believe that.

Snow crunched underfoot as she rounded the corner to the front of the Chantry. Only Leliana and Josephine stood waiting. The Ambassador was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak but she smiled as she talked animatedly to the redhead, who seemed completely at ease with the cold.

"Good morning to you, Herald." The Antivan greeted.

If Josephine noticed her wince she gave no indication of it as she continued to smile.

"And to you, Ambassador. Sister." She nodded to Leliana.

It was then she noticed that the Spymaster was holding a stave. Odd given that she was fairly certain the Orlesian was no mage.

Mage or no, however, it was a thing of beauty.

The haft of the stave was made of a dark wood that appeared almost red in the harsh light of the icy morning. It looked supple though, capable. And not to mention beautifully crafted. The bottom was an impressive carving of bowed bone in the shape of a dragons tooth. The topper, though, was the most impressive thing about it. It boasted a small dragon, moulded out of bronzed metal, raising it's wings in triumph as it called to the heavens. Her eyes followed its lines longingly, she would have given her right hand to be able to carve anything of such detail. Scales were even tenderly carved into the metal and tiny red gems inset where the eyes would be.

She blinked as Leliana held it out to her.

"You lost yours at the Temple, yes?"

"Ah, no." She shook her head. Whilst she had lost a stave to the heavy foot of a pride demon on the mountaintop, it hadn't been her own. "I found the one I had when we closed the rift on my way up the mountain. It wasn't really mine."

Leliana considered this for a moment.

"Regardless, we cannot allow you to go off to the Hinterlands unarmed." Leliana shrugged and wiggled the staff in front of her. "The reports I have received have not been…they have not been good."

Her chest tightened at those words.

Even so, she could not accept it. The cost of such a thing alone…

She opened her mouth to decline their gift, the protest bitter on the tip of her tongue.

But the two women were watching her expectantly.

Her jaw snapped shut with a click.

She wrapped her hand around the wood of the stave. The timber felt warm beneath her palm and she was surprised at how light the weapon was given its ornamentation. She could feel the heat within it, the flame within reaching out to her magic.

It felt good.

She blinked rapidly as she stroked the wings of the dragon. Her throat felt tight.

She looked up at the two women.

"Thank you." She whispered, struggling somewhat around the lump in her throat.

"Excellent." Josephine grinned, clapping her hands together in what Syndre could only assume was happiness. "Now you're all set."

Syndre cleared her throat as quietly as possible.

"Actually, there was only more thing I wanted to ask before we left. I was wondering if there was somewhere I might be able to find a courier before I leave or one that's on the way to the Hinterlands." Syndre explained, fishing the letter out of her pocket. "I need to get this letter to my Keeper."

"Your Keeper? Of course, you are the First of clan, no?" Leliana nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. Syndre supposed she shouldn't have been all that surprised that the Spymaster had looked into her. "You will be missed."

Well, clearly the bard hadn't looked into her in much depth then.

"I will have one of my people take it to your Keeper directly."

"On no. I didn't mean it like that. I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone." She protested, alarm seeping into her voice as she flapped at the two women.

"Nonsense. It will be fastest this way." Leliana assured her, a small smile curving one corner of her lips as she watched the young elf flail. "There are some people who still want to see you in irons, after all. It would not surprise me if these people intercepted your letter."

She stilled immediately, eyes wide as she looked at Leliana.

She hadn't even thought of such a thing.

She was right, of course.

There were people out there who might try to use her clan against her.

Raising her chin, she held out the letter to Leliana.

She would not let that happen. What was the point of helping seal the rifts and protecting Thedas if there was no clan for her to return home to when it was all said and done?

"Now, what's this?" A smooth voice asked. "A naughty letter for some lucky fellow back home?"

Varric grinned roguishly – he did everything roguishly – as he approached them. Not even the biting breeze that seemed a staple of Ferelden life had forced the dwarf to cover up the large expanse of chest that he insisted on leaving exposed, she noticed. Maybe the impressive layer of hair the dwarf boasted was insulation enough. Or mayhap the dwarf had a fear of top buttons.

A loud snort from the opening Chantry doors cut short any reply that she might have given to the glib dwarf.

"Is that jealously I sense, Seeker?" Varric looked at her from below his heavy brow as he nonchalantly tugged at his gloves.

"Absolutely not" Cassandra cried as her eyes narrowed at the shorter man. Syndre worried her bottom lip as she shifted from foot to foot. "How dare you, you little-"

"Come now." Varric cut in, holding up his hands in what she guessed was meant to be a placating manner even as his smirk widened. "You're among friends. No one here will tell anyone your secret."

Leliana stepped silently between the two, giving Cassandra a dark look as she moved towards the dwarf.

Solas rounded the corner then and Syndre's shoulders relaxed at the sight of the quiet man. She hadn't been aware of the tension in her muscles until they loosened.

"Good. We are ready to leave then." Cassandra nodded at them and stormed ahead.

Syndre and Varric looked at one another.

"Was it something I said?" He chortled and followed behind.

"I will make sure that your Keeper receives your letter." Leliana assured her, mirth sparkles in her blue eyes.

"Thank you again." Syndre smiled.

Josephine and Leliana went back inside the Chantry and she watched them go for a second before turning to catch up with the others. Cassandra's black armour was almost just a spec on the horizon as she jogged to the others.

Varric whistled a merry tune as Solas walked beside him.

"Have you ever been to the Hinterlands?" She asked, aiming the question at neither of them in particular.

The journey into the heartlands of Ferelden took less time that Solas had initially predicted due to the punishing pace that Cassandra set. Every night they had set up camp on the road there the elf had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and she had woken every morning with griping muscles.

But it was worth it just for the first restful sleep she had had in weeks.

The Hinterlands were beautiful, she decided. The landscape of rolling hills were painted lushly with life and set under a clear blue sky. The air smelled fresh and the sun was deliciously warm in this part of the country.

If there was anything that Syndre had learned about Ferelden in her time there it was that the country was wet. Horribly and miserably wet.

But not here. Not that day.

The late morning sun was blinding as she lifted the flap to exit her tent. The Seeker, whom she had bunked with during their time on the road, had left disgustingly early that morning. Drifting out of the tent with the last vestiges of the night.

It was a wonder Cassandra had allowed her to sleep so late.

The Nevarran was standing talking to Scout Harding, the cheerful looking dwarf they had met the night before an odd sight standing next to the stern looking human.

"Morning, Herald." Chirped the scout as she approached.

"Please." Syndre grimaced. "Call me Syndre."

"As you wish." The dwarf bowed shallowly. "Herald."

Syndre sighed and shook her head, trying to hide her small smile. Harding's sunny disposition was hard to dislike.

"What's the best way to reach Mother Gisele?" Cassandra asked the dwarf.

Straight to business then.

"There's a path just outside the camp that will take you right into the valley and to the village." The scout said. "I will warn you though, the place is crawling with mages and Templars. Our scouts say that they're attacking indiscriminately, including our soldiers…and the villagers."

"Cassandra?" Syndre asked, looking at the more experienced woman.

"We will deal with them if necessary. Finding Mother Gisele is our priority."

"You're right. Hopefully it won't come to that." She muttered.

Hopefully they would be able to help the village and talk down both factions...

Varric sauntered over to them then, tossing Bianca over his shoulder with a grace that spoke of practice and Solas stood at the edge of camp waiting for them.

They headed out of the site, stopping only to speak with the requisitions officer.

Even though it was still morning the sun beat down on the party as the descended down the steep hillside and into the valley. The breeze whispered through the long grasses around them and the bleating of nearby rams kept them company.

But the peace did not last long as the quiet gave way to the loud thrums of war cries in the distance.

There were the mages and Templars that Harding had warned them about.

The din only got louder as they grew closer and the smell of charred wood drifted in from the west.

"Come on." Cassandra ordered as they began jogging down the path.

Syndre fumbled to unhook the staff from her back as she just managed to keep pace with the others, her boots only sliding in the dry dirt once.

Cassandra was already armed and in the centre of the fray by the time Syndre reached the outskirts of the village. Metal crashed on metal and she could feel magic pulling at the veil as the battle raged between the ancient factions.

Many bodies lay motionless at the roadside, some peppered with arrows and other with half melted spears of indigo ice. Men and women wearing Inquisition colours were amongst them. But even that was nothing in comparison to the bodies that boasted no insignias and no associations. The corpses of villagers, of all ages and sexes, were scattered amongst the dead.

Innocents.

Solas and Varric both stood back from the fight as they provided cover fire for Cassandra and the soldiers. Syndre reached for the familiar well of power at her centre as she focused her mind. The alien pool of power that had been there since she had woken up in Haven's dungeon remained ever stagnant and she ignored it.

Her barrier formed around Cassandra and the others fighting alongside her. The magical shield danced along the armour of her comrades, sparking a brilliant white whenever is absorbed a blow.

It was almost beautiful.

The Seeker fought with ferocity. The sound of one particular heavy downward swing resounding off of a Templar shield rattled in the Elf's chest. The entire battle rang loudly in her ears and overwhelmed her senses. These were not the infernal screams of demons that assaulted her but the sounds of people.

Of men and women.

Just like her.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she maintained the shield around Cassandra. Each strike it absorbed pushed her magic a little further, a little harder. It was taking everything she had to hold it. But it was working.

The Inquisition was pressing the advantage.

She tried to ignore the falling bodies of them men and women around her as she focused on Cassandra.

One Templar – a man larger than any she had ever come across and more intimidating than even Cullen in full regalia – swung at Cassandra with a great sword that was at least three heads taller than Syndre. The lighter Seeker easily avoided the blow but it drove her back. The Templar kept coming, his colossal swings glancing off Cassandra's blade as her arm shook under the impact. There was no way Syndre's barrier would hold under that kind of onslaught, magic or no.

She cried out as the man swung once more, aiming for Cassandra's side this time. But the Seeker was too quick. Sidestepping, the Templar's sword swing low and wide, missing her completely.

Cassandra drove her shield up and into the side of the Templar's helm.

It rattled and dislodged, falling to the blood stained dirt at his feet.

But that didn't faze the giant for long. Shaking himself off, he advanced. A snarl twisting his upper lip into something ugly and determined.

He never made it far though.

Time seemed to slow around her as a shard of ice, easily as long as her forearm, pierced the assailant's throat. The titan's eyes bulged in their sockets as the sword slipped from his fist. Armoured knees hit the dirt and the newly disturbed dust swirled slowly around his body as he reached up to claw at the ice.

It was useless though. The Templar's bunted gauntlets were unable to find purchase of the glassy spike. His frantic gulping was difficult to watch as the ice water and blood came together to mix below the magical spear before slowly trickling down beneath his embossed chest plate.

Solas stood to the side where he watched the scene with a calm that she couldn't comprehend. The remnants of frost still danced around long, elegant fingers.

She couldn't look away from the dying man. His dark eyes roved desperately as the metal edges of his gauntlets tore at the delicate covering of his oesophagus.

Her stomach heaved violently and she was suddenly grateful she hadn't eaten anything that morning.

A sharp cry cut through the sound of her retching.

Another Templar stood over one of the Inquisition's soldiers. The recruit was scooting away from the Templar as fast as she could, her own weapon obviously tossed out of reach when the Templar had knocked her to the ground.

No.

Her staff fell to the ground with a clatter as she raced towards the skirmish. Her hand was sure as she reached for the dagger at the small of her back.

The Templar raised his sword high as he made to make his final blow, sure in his victory.

"Move!" She cried at the terrified looking woman, who scrambled to follow her orders and get out of the Templar's path.

Before the man could turn towards her she drove the dagger up into his armpit. Her blade slid easily into the exposed and tender flesh it found.

The Templar grunted but didn't lower his sword as he attempted to follow the fleeing recruit. It provided the elf with just the opening she needed. Flames licked along her finger and up around the hilt of the dagger, igniting the cloth beneath the Templar's plate.

And then it spread – hotter and faster than any natural flame.

She backed off them, the dagger pulling free of the Templar's burning flesh with sickening ease. He was frantic as he tried to pat out the flame, reaching around himself in blind panic. But the blaze would not be halted. Piercing screams penetrated the now quiet air, shriller than anything she would have thought a human male capable of.

The battle was over now and everyone stood and watched the burning Templar with horror.

The smell of melting flesh burning in her nostrils as the Templar cooked within his own armour. His screams ceasing only when his scorched body fell limply to the ground. There was a loud buzzing in her ears, or was it her head, as she watched on with wide eyes.

The blood stained dagger that dangled loosely in her fingers fell to the dirt. Its rattle was dull beneath the hum.

Dread Wolf take her. What had she done?

Her body trembled as she stumbled away from the smoking corpse, unaware that somewhere behind her Solas was picking up her forgotten blade.

She breathed deeply through her mouth but even that tasted like smoke and death.

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand did nothing to shift the metallic tang that lingered there.

The buzz inside of her skull persisted even as she made her way back to the Seeker.

Cassandra gave her the once over as she approached.

She almost snorted.

Of course. Couldn't have their only manner of closing the rifts have a mental break, now could they?

She straightened her back and met the woman's dark gaze.

"I'm fine, Cassandra." She grumbled even though it felt like her insides were pressing outwards on her ribcage.

She picked up her discarded stave and returned it to the spot on her back. The inquisition soldier that stood with Cassandra, the one who's life she had just traded for another, looked at her with wide eyes and tense shoulders as she approached.

"Where is Mother Gisele?"


	5. Not Just A Mark

A/N: Anything you recognize belongs to Bioware.

I was unsure whether a warning was necessary for this chapter, but i figured it's better to be safe than sorry. There is a scene dealing with elements of self-harm in the latter half of the chapter.

The Greater Terror came towards her, elongated claws arcing wide in an attempt to reach her but ultimately missing her body as she clumsily ducked out of the way. However, the creature managed to catch her staff, sending it spiraling into the river with a loud splash. Screaming, the demon advanced. There was no way she could reach her stave, it would put her straight in the demon's path.

It was twice the size of her and built as solidly as the gnarled trees it resembled. There was no way she could take that on without a weapon and win.

She did the worst thing she could have the demon faced her down.

She hesitated.

The breath was pushed from her lungs in a loud 'whoosh' as the demon leapt onto her and pressed her down onto her back. The sharp rocks that littered the riverbed were forced into the flesh of her back, cushioned only minorly by the leather of her overcoat. The demon above her cried in outrage, its monstrous mouth gaping horrifically as its many eyes watched her with unwavering intensity.

She struggled under the weight of it pressing firmly down on her chest, fighting to keep her head above the water running over her face and into her nose.

The colossal weight above her was abruptly knocked aside as Cassandra rammed her shield into the side of the terror. She gasped for air and clambered to her feet all the while ignoring the burning in her chest.

Solas and Varric were somewhere further up the hill and likely still occupied with the despair demon that had erupted from the rift, leaving a trail of ice behind it.

She deftly plucked her staff from the stream as she raced towards Cassandra.

The spray from the waterfall had soaked them all through and her clothes stuck to her skin as she ran, wet curls slicked back against her head. Cassandra was fully occupying the terror that was swinging at her and shrieking loudly enough that the sound managed to pierce through even the crashing of the waterfall behind them.

Her mind was quiet as she swung her staff at the terror, hitting the creature soundly in the knee and bringing it to the ground. That was all it look to distract the creature long enough for Cassandra to drive her sword through its emancipated chest.

It screeched and faded to green light, returning to the rift from whence it came.

Now it was just the despair demon left.

They ran up the hill, avoiding slipping on the demon's ice trail, only to find the demon shielded and waiting for them. The others were nowhere to be seen. Cassandra stepped in front of Syndre and raised her shield to deflect the incoming beam of ice that the demon directed at them. The elf could feel the force of the blast even through the Seeker's heavily armoured body. She vibrated with it.

Varric was hidden behind a large rock, she could see now as she shrunk behind the Seeker, the dwarf only leaving cover to deliver bolts to the angry, shrouded demon. Magic burst to life along her skin and shimmered along the lines of Cassandra's armour, white lights dancing along the metal.

A barrier.

Solas.

Relief washed through her at knowing they were both alive.

A mechanical twang resounded loudly throughout the gully as Varric let lose another bolt. Unsurprisingly it struck true, embedding deeply within the Demon's shoulder. It squealed deafeningly and stopped its frosty onslaught, turning to search for the origins of the bolt. Varric hunkered down behind the boulder and reloaded Bianca, paying little attention to the the demon heading straight for him. As it searched the dwarf slipped silently around the rock, the demon none the wiser.

Rounding the boulder he delivered another bolt, this time to the creature's back.

Point blank and utterly devastating.

It disintegrated just at the terror had before it and returned to the rift in a breeze coloured green.

Shivering and sore, Syndre headed back down to the river.

Quietness now prevailed around the rift and she sealed it with no further protests from the denizens of the fade. Nausea assaulted her as she reached for the mark's power within herself.

The others were making their way slowly down the hill, though the Seeker had fire in her eyes and purpose in her step.

She stumbled back from the advancing woman, quickly righting herself as her foot caught on a rock.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Cassandra hissed, boots splashing through the river and soaking both their legs.

"I'm sorry. I-" She chattered.

"Sorry?" The seeker echoed, her words coloured with disbelief. "You are sorry? Your apologies will mean little to the people who will suffer if you die."

Syndre recoiled at the Seeker's harsh words, her eyes scrunching as though the woman had delivered a physical blow to her person.

"Cassandra!" Varric said, a warning written in the rumbling of his voice. "Lay off. She's been through enough."

"Me? Lay off?" The Seeker cried and rounded on the shorter man. "You know what we stand to lose if-"

"And so does she." He replied irritably. "The kid just got chewed up and spat out by the Fade, cut her some slack."

She felt numb as she listened to them argue about her as though she wasn't even there, quivering as she stood calf deep in the river.

"Such allowances will not help us protect Thedas." Cassandra replied, voice dark as she choose not to continue to argue with Varric. She looked at the shivering elf briefly as she moved past her to head back to camp. Syndre could not meet her eyes.

"Come on." Varric sighed with a voice softer than she had ever heard from the man as he addressed her. "It's been a long day for everyone."

She nodded and sloshed along behind the dwarf.

They set up camp not far from the waterfall, which could be heard faintly in the distance, just outside the farms of Redcliffe. It was the best place for them to reach the elusive Horsemaster when the morning came.

Syndre sat by the fire, back against a dried out log as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest. She still wore her wet shirt and trousers, though they were only mostly damp now. Her leather overcoat was lying in a heap somewhere, forgotten. The heat from the flames barely suppressed the shivers that danced painfully through her muscles but still she didn't make a move to change into more comfortable, and dry, clothes.

She ignored everyone in camp, just like they ignored her as she sat and watched the flame with a dogged stare. Cassandra was nowhere to be found within the boundaries of the camp, the angry Seeker had taken off into the dusk and not yet returned.

There in the inferno, she could see him.

The Templar.

His body was etched in the flame and his screams loitered in her head as she sat and watched.

The smoke from this fire was clean but still the smell of burning flesh remained riddled in her airways.

She ran her hand through her half dried hair. It was loose and hung limply around her narrow shoulders though it no longer dripped water onto her saturated shirt. A soft hiss escaped her teeth as her fingers snagged in the strands.

Dropping her head onto her knees, she sighed.

"You need to eat, kid." Varric said, soft authority written throughout his voice.

She looked up from knees to find a bowl hovering in front of her. She took it.

He settled on the log behind her, swigging from a flask that she doubted held water.

"Thank you." She croaked.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the two former prisoners keeping each other company. She lifted a spoonful of the broth to her lips. It scalded the roof of her mouth and tasted like nothing on her tongue.

Varric cleared his throat, his timbre huskier than normal from the alcohol he was drinking.

"Try not to worry too much about Cassandra, she can be a little…" the dwarf searched for a word that was capable of justifying the force that the Seeker was.

"She was right." Syndre breathed, eyes downcast as she picked at the bowl of food, moving a piece of stew around.

Sighing, she looked at the stars.

"I have to do better."

"Look kid…" Varric said before trailing off as he watched the elf pick at the food he'd brought her.

"Here." Nudging her gently on the shoulder with his knee and offering her the flask.

The dwarf recoiled as her fingers brushed against his.

"Shit. You're freezing." Varric swore and jumped to his feet.

She blinked at the dwarf's retreating back, still holding his hip flask. She looked at it under the light, admiring the way the way the bronzed metal reflected the glow. It fit him perfectly – as bronzed and robust as the man it belonged to, wrapped in leather and embossed with a crest she could only assume was his family's.

A heavy weight landed on her shoulders and she started.

Looking over the edges of the blanket she saw Varric sitting down on the log once more.

The blanket was thick and scratchy against the exposed skin at the base of her throat but its heat was wholly welcomed. Wrapping it more comfortably around herself, she toyed with the edges of the flask before unstopping it and bringing it to her lips.

The liquid burned her insides as it slid down her throat, its warmth settling deep within her chest and radiating outwards.

She spluttered loudly and coughed.

Varric chuckled, the sound coming from deep within his furred chest.

"Nothing like some of the Hanged Man's finest to keep you warm on those cold, lonely nights in the middle of the Maker forsaken wilderness." He said before drinking deeply as she handed back the flask.

The pair lapsed into silence once more, both looking at the stars that shone brightly over the countryside.

"You're almost as far away from home as I am." She said, taking another, less generous sip, from the flask they were passing between then. "Do you miss it?"

"What, Kirkwall?" Varric asked. "After Blondie blowing up the Chantry? Mages and Templars killing each other in the streets."

He scoffed.

"And not to mention the piss poor swill that they started selling in the Hanged man. 'Quality Mead' my ass. Tragic, really."

He fingered the crest on the leather cover, before looking at her.

"Yeah. I miss it."

She nodded and didn't press him any further.

"Me too." She admitted quietly to him, thinking about her own home.

"You should get some sleep, kid." The dwarf said, clasping her softly on the shoulder before heading towards his tent.

"Goodnight." She whispered, more to herself than to him.

Her eyes shut as her head fell back onto the log behind her.

The sounds of the fire crackled in her ears and the blaze caressed the exposed underside of her throat. Slowly, as the remnants of Varric's presence left her, the screams began to return. They snuck upon her as they filled her head with their vengeful cries.

Her body reverberated with it.

Cold digits fisted in the rough spun blanket and her throat worked over the lump it found there. The fire tasted like ashes in her mouth, dry and bitter, as it traced hotly over her skin, even beneath the blanket.

Stumbling to her feet, the blanket fell in a puddle around her still damp boots. She stumbled through the boggy puddle outside the camp, splashing quietly into the night. The cool air was initially soothing on her fevered skin and the mud under her boots held firm as she made her way down the hill.

The rushing of the waterfall only grew louder as she neared it but even its mighty crashing was no match for the screams that ravaged the inside of her skull. She choked and fell to her knees at the riverside, the protesting of her bones quiet under the primal chorus.

Moonlight bathed the area in bright light that glinted almost charmingly on the surface of the rocks that pierced the river's surface.

The mud of the riverbed was soft and sludgy beneath her curling fingers as she concentrated on breathing whilst the spray filled air pacified her smoke filled throat. Mist settled on her skin and hair, making them wet once more.

The cold nipped at her skin now but she embraced its icy grip.

It was nothing in comparison with the painful way she had allowed that Templar to die.

She shook her head as she shuddered, her curls writhing around her, as if she could shake the images from her mind. The river bubbled quietly and the water lapped at her wrists.

Though she cast a shadow where she leaned over the water she could still make out her own features. Gently angled eyes were ringed with a purple that looked deep and sore against the stark paleness of her skin. She had always been pale, too many days spent under a shaded tree reading or in the Keeper's aravel studying. But this was different.

She barely even recognised herself as she studied her shimmering and shadowed reflection.

A soft cry erupted from her throat then, unbidden. She swiped at the surface of the water and her reflection wobbled and disappeared from sight as she leaned back, thighs resting on her calves.

More sorrow gurgled low in her throat but she refused to let it win even if the camp was far enough away that she wouldn't disturb anyone.

Her hands were covered in the soft slurry from the riverbed and it was drying on her skin, making the tissue feel tight as it desiccated. A dark stain on her hands, it looked like blood in the darkness.

She clawed at it, the dried parts flaking easily to the floor as she tore at the mud and then at her own skin beneath it.

The scar that dominated her left palm still looked raw under the moonlight as the muck peeled away. Submerging her hands in the frigid water she scoured her flesh.

"You stupid thing. You gods forsaken- Fen'Harel take you. I don't want this." She sobbed, scrubbing at her hand.

"I didn't ask for this. Not for any of it." Her cries were taking on a desperate edge, her voice becoming sore and hoarse. "Why me?"

But still she scratched and tore.

It's not enough.

Her arms shuddered under the force she exerted on her own skin.

She couldn't feel it though, the water hand numbed even her abused skin.

Her breathing was harsh in her ears as she picked up a ragged rock from the riverbed. It fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, arrow shaped and severely edges. She used it on herself, like she hoped it would wash away the blood staining her hands.

The dense stone rubbed her skin raw, catching and cutting.

"What do you want from me?" She called, her voice drifting and lost the under the sounds of waterfall. Who she was asking she wasn't sure and even if there was an answer she wasn't sure she wanted it.

"This." She croaked at her left palm. "All of this because of this…thing."

She gripped the stone in her right hand, the pointed edge of the rock directed downward from her fist.

She dragged the tip of it along the length of the ragged scar on her palm, its sharpness slicing through her wet flesh with ease. Blood welled up from the depths exposed by her sundered dermis, thick and black in the dark.

Ragged breath whistled though her clenched teeth.

The stone left her palm with a final judder before she dropped it back into the mud, the tension bleeding from her limbs as the stone left her fist.

Her chest heaved and her closed eyes burned.

She didn't even jump when she heard soft footfalls behind her.

Undemanding fingers wrapped around her wrist.

She was not surprised when she opened her eyes to see Solas kneeling facing her.

"You seem to spend a great deal of time taking tending to this mark." She snorted as Solas examined her wound.

"Not the mark so much as the person who wields it." Solas looked at her, blue eyes piercing even in the shadows.

She wasn't so sure that she wielded it so much as it wielded her.

Sighing, she turned her body so that she was facing the older elf.

A ball of light flared to life above them and painted them in cold, silvery light.

She swallowed as Solas traced her wound and winced slightly as he pressed at its edges, testing the skin.

"Forgive me." He said, looking at her through dark lashes. She relaxed when a numbing cold swept through her hand, emanating from the man who held it in both of his.

"Thank you." She whispered as her skin knitted back together, Solas' magic healing and shutting the wound. The power in him was evident. Self-taught he may have been but there was true power there. Primal but quiet. It made her shiver. "I was never very good at healing magic."

She flexed her hand when he finished, only a minor sting lingering in the muscles.

Surprise washed over her when he didn't reprimand her or ask why she had done it.

"This belongs to you." Solas said reaching for his belt. He presented her with her lost dagger, held out to her hilt first.

She frowned at her offered possession. Unsure whether she wanted it back despite the fact it had belonged to her late Father.

"He was the first man you've killed." He said, more of a statement that a question.

"What gave it away?" She snorted, wrapping her fingers reluctantly around the leather bound stiletto. "The gagging or the crying?"

The blade flashed dangerously in the moonlight.

It was no longer bloodstained. Solas had cleaned it.

"The fact that I found you trying to carve the mark from your hand." He said.

"Yeah, I guess that would do it." She grimaced and returned the dagger to the sheath at the small of her back.

He looked at her but peculiarly enough she felt no judgment from the man.

"You did what had to be done." He said.

"Did I?" She asked, untucking her legs from under her and resting her chin on her raised knees. "Because I'm not so sure."

She had no idea why she was telling him that, but the words tumbled from her lips. He didn't need to hear this.

"That woman would have died were it not for you."

"Someone else did die because of me."

"The fact that you value life that way speaks well of you but that Templar made a choice, a poor one perhaps, but a choice nonetheless." Solas nodded. The elf positively oozed calm. "He would have killed that woman and then anyone else who stood between the Templars and the eradication of the mages."

He was right. She could see that.

But that didn't mean she felt good about what she had done.

"That man could have had a life, a family. And I took that away from him."

"You are correct, undeniably, but you did not put him on that path. The circumstances in which he found himself were of his own making."

He continued, lilting voice firm. It reminded her of the tone Deshanna would use during their lessons together. But deeper, and decidedly male.

"It was a means to an end and you are right to find no joy in that. Such a waste of life should not be celebrated." His voice softened. "You should take comfort in the fact that you saved not only that soldier today, but a great deal many others."

"But I didn't save them all." She whispered, hoping he wouldn't hear her. The images of the dead villagers lingered in her minds eyes, unwanted but unwilling to be banished.

But he did hear her.

"Such is the nature of war." He lamented. "I do not envy the burden that had been placed upon you, as surely as that mark, but I am glad that it fell to someone filled with empathy. The world could do with more of it, especially from those in a position of influence and power."

Heat stole across her cheeks at his words and she was glad that it was dark enough that he was unlikely to have noticed her blush.

"There will be more battles to come. You would do well to ready yourself for such an eventuality."

"I will do better." She swore, promising herself more than the man beside her.

"One more thing." Solas said, reaching once again for his belt or a pocket. She couldn't really tell in the dark. He held a small glass phial, shaped like a teardrop.

She took it, her cold fingers brushing against Solas' much warmer digits.

"What is it?" She asked of what seemed to be a pale amber liquid.

"An aid to help you sleep." Solas explained. "Seeker Pentaghast informed me that you do not sleep restfully. She asked if I could help."

She blushed again and ducked her head, embarrassed that she'd disturbed the seeker with her shortcomings.

"The Seeker may be harsh." He explained. "But do not doubt that she sees you as more than just that mark on your hand."

She blanched, eyes widening as she looked up at the man who had read her so easily.

"Come." He nodded at the camp. "Morning will soon be upon us."

They walked back to camp then, Solas' mage light dancing along merrily behind them in a manner that reminded her greatly of a wisp.

She fell asleep that night feeling lighter than she had in weeks, wise words spoken in a soft timbre luring her to peace.


	6. Enansal

A/N: Anything you recognise belongs to Bioware.

"She seems to have taken a shine to you." Dennet smiled. It was a small thing, the gesture kind and usual for the typically quiet and almost taciturn man. The lullaby she had been humming faded in her throat as she turned towards the older man leaning over the top fencepost.

"And I to her." Syndre chirped, continuing to brush the coat of the chestnut mare that the Master of Horse had gifted her when they met. Her brushstrokes were long and steady, the rhythm lulling both her and the horse into a relaxed stance. The last remnants of dirt and dust were coming off her coat, revealing its previously hidden luster. Quiet satisfaction buzzed in her chest as she admired the chestnut hide.

"She's a beauty, certainly."

"Strong and fast, and more than a little spirited." The older man nodded absently as he rubbed his heavy calloused hands together. "I was worried she would be more than you would be able to handle, if you don't mind my saying so. But you seem to have her eating out of the palm of your hand."

The horse huffed loudly as if in protest at the man's remark, tail flicking high to the side in annoyance. Chuckling quiet, Syndre reached up and massaged the animal's ears. Dropping her neck once more, the horse sniffed at her hay, appeased.

Syndre grinned into the hide of the horse's side.

That equine smell filled her nose and lungs.

What a softie.

"I used to help tend to the Halla when I was with my clan." Syndre explained, returning to her brushing. She enjoyed the sound of the soft bristles against the hide. Soft and monotonous. It reminded her of home. "They're bigger than typical deer and they don't shed their horns either. We carve the antlers, in honour of them being the Dalish's noble companions."

Antlers were also often used to trade with humans or in the crafting of weapons. The hilt of her own dagger was carved from the antlers of a Halla. Intricate and beautiful.

"They're magnificent animals." Admiration was obvious in the older human's voice. Unusual given the typical human opinion of the Dalish.

As she understood it her people were often used as a means to pacify and frighten disobedient children in areas that were in close proximity to where a clan was known to roam. Children were told that if they misbehaved a Dalish Elf would sneak into their home in the middle of the night and cart them off into the forest to be sacrificed to the Elven gods.

Between the naked frolicking through the woods and the sacrifice of children, she was beginning to wonder if any humans had sensible assumptions about Dalish clans and their lives.

From what she had experienced so far it wasn't all that different from life here, in Haven. It was the same humdrum daily life, fully of chores and responsibilities. Humans just did it in one place as opposed to the Dalish's nomadic lifestyle.

"You don't ride them, do you?"

She made a "hmm" sound in the back of her throat as Dennet interrupted her musings. Blinking owlishly at the man, it took her a few seconds to work out what he had asked her.

"They say that the stags of the Halla used to carry the Emerald Knights of the Dales into battle but these days they are considered companions to our people. They are our guides, pulling our aravels, and delivering us safely through the forests."

"I'll have bet that was a sight to see."

You and me both, Horsemaster.

It sounded like something straight out of one of those human fairy tales she had read in a book. A knight riding in on a mighty steed to vanquish an evil foe, usually in the form of a dragon. And usually to win the hand of some helpless, and fair maiden…

She was getting distracted again.

"I've seen you in this stable tending to our girl several times but I've yet to see you ride her."

Her stroking ceased as she considered her answer to the Horsemaster.

"I don't know how to." She admitted. "I've never ridded before."

"Don't know how to-." Dennet muttered before huffing. "Well we can't have that."

"This girl here. She was made to be jockeyed. We should give her a ride worthy of that."

As if in agreement the horse nuzzled Syndre's hair before draping her long neck over the short elf's shoulder. Humming gently in her thought, she stroked lovely at the animal's neck. Small, flicking movements that seemed to please the mare greatly.

"I'll take that as your approval, shall I?" She chuckled, her voice low as she spoke to the horse that surrounded her. Not minding in the least that the animal dwarfed her considerably, she felt oddly comforted by the embrace.

Another huff.

"So what do you say?"

"I'd love to." She smiled at the man.

He nodded in obvious approval.

"Let's get this girl all saddled up, then." He said, climbing and hopping over the fence with an ease that she thought seemed at odds with his age. Clearly breaking and training horses kept a person in reasonably good physical condition. "Have you given her a name yet? I suppose it'll be one of your fancy Elven words."

"Of course." She smiled good-naturedly, knowing that the older man meant no maliciousness, it was just his rough and tumble manner. The elf rather liked his ways, truth be told. After her disastrous meeting with the Grand Clerics in Val Royeaux she had had her fill of educated and pretentious people.

And she doubted that she had dealt with the last of it too.

"Enansal. Her name is Enansal."

A blessing. A gift.

Crossing his arms, Dennet looked at the horse as he rolled the name over his tongue, tying out the sound. It was almost as though he was testing to see whether her choice was a good fit for girl.

"Enansal." He nodded. "It's a good name."

No truer words were ever spoken.

"Will you show me how to saddle her?" She asked.

The older man looked surprised at her request. She could only assume that the people he normally dealt with, noble types and the like, preferred to let their stable hands do the saddling for them.

But she was determined to learn. She liked the idea of doing it for herself.

Tying Enansal to a post, Dennet left to fetch the things he needed to saddle her. He returned with a blanket and a bridle laying over one broad shoulder and a heavy looking moulded saddle in his hands. Following the instructions the old human gave her, she laid the thick woollen blanket over Enansal's middle.

"You want to sure the blanket is even on both sides before you put the saddle on it."

Checking the evenness of the blanket, she looked at Dennet for further instruction. He handed her the saddle, blanching a bit when the small elf struggled under the weight. But he stood back, and let her handle it, but remaining braced in case she needed help. Syndre adjusted for the weight and grinned over the saddle at the man's barely concealed concern.

"Now lift the saddle. High enough that you won't hit her or drop it on her. Yeah, that's it." He instructed whilst standing behind her and directing her movements. It reminded her of the way that Varian had instructed her when he's shown her how to carve her first Halla horn. "We might need to get you a step if you plan on doing this regular like."

"Right, you're going to have to reach right round under her for the other end of the cinch." Fumbling hands reached for the buckle at the other side of Enansal's girth. The elf cursed her short limbs under her breath and ended up almost ducking under the horse in order to reach. "Tighten it gently, you don't want to compromise her breathing by tying it too tight."

She did as the Horsemaster bade, talking gently to her horse all the while.

"Good girl, Enansal." She murmured. "So good to your fumbling rider, who clearly had no idea what's she's doing…"

Used to being handled though, Enansal barely paid them any heed as they went about the business of getting her saddled.

"Not bad." He grunted when she had finally managed to buckle the cinch. "We'll make a Horsemaster of you yet."

Dennet untied the horse and opening the gate, led her from the stables. Enansal stubbornly resisted the Master's lead but quietened when Syndre stoked her neck.

Shaking his head, he handed her the leather reins.

"You've got a way about you, girl."

She took the proffered lead happily and took up place between Enansal and the Horsemaster.

They led her along the path outside the front of Haven. The horse didn't even blanch when they passed Cullen and the recruits he was overseeing outside of the village.

The recruits seemed to be getting better from what she could tell, not that she was particularly well versed in the martial training of men, or combat techniques generally. But there was definitely less of them being thrown to the floor and less shields being dropped.

Clearly the Commander did good work.

Said advisor gave a courteous dip of his golden head as they passed, before quickly turning back to shout at his recruits. She admired the way the man's voice carried, it was a pleasant voice. Somehow she doubted the soldiers under him held the same opinion. It wasn't her he was yelling at, after all.

Dennet led them round the back of the hut where she had recently found Taigen's notes. She looked at the Horsemaster in confusion as he stopped them just past the cabin. There were some Druffalo meandering about in the mostly open space that stretched before them.

"Figured it would do much good for you to learn in front of the soldiers." Dennet shrugged and took the reins from her. "Wouldn't be right for them to see the Herald of Andraste learn that sort of thing."

Of course not, she was meant to be something beyond mere mortal now.

The Horsemaster might have said he no longer had any interest in running off and playing soldier but clearly there was still part of him that thought like one. He knew how they worked; their morale and their inspiration. It seemed the Inquisition had picked up more than just a Master of Horse when Cassandra had persuaded him to join.

A multi-faceted asset, indeed.

It struck her briefly that she didn't know whether the man before her believed in the stories that were being weaved about her. If he thought that she was truly sent by Andraste to save them all from the terror that was the Breach.

"Put your foot in the stirrup and use the saddle to pull yourself up."

She did as he instructed, letting out a huff when she struggled to get her foot through the small metal loop than refused to remain in one place. Chuckling quietly before moving, Dennet took her firmly by the ankle and guided her foot into the strap. Her hand managed to find purchase on the saddle, allowing her to haul herself up and swing her leg over with more ease than she would have though herself capable of.

The Horsemaster walked around the other side of Enansal and adjusted the stirrup to account for her shorter stature.

Unused to the moulded leather beneath her and the position the saddle demanded of her, she shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Good. Keep your back straight and try to move your centre of gravity with her." Dennet instructed, leading them both along by the reins as she held onto the handle at the front of the saddle. "You've got to trust her, she won't lead you wrong."

He led them around for a bit, letting Syndre get used to the movements. She could feel the rolling of Enansal's muscles beneath her as they rocked her from side to side.

The air around them was cold and fresh, and tinged with the pleasant smell of hay and horse. She smiled from her perch. Relaxing fully into the saddle, she let her body roll with the animal that carried her.

"There. Now you're getting it." The Horsemaster nodded, approval buried in the tone of his gruff voice.

They continued the gentle pace for almost an hour, the sun passing the midpoint of the sky. Her muscles began to ache with holding a position they were not used to and noticing her fidgeting the Horsemaster suggested they stop for the day. Wandering back to the path, Dennet stopped to allow her to dismount.

"Well Herald, it seems you're a natural." Dennet mumbled as she swung her leg down, landing in the dirt with a dull thud. "My girl is in good hands."

"Thank you, Dennet." She grinned, chested filled with warmth from the compliment. High praise indeed, from a man who cared for his animals the way Dennet did.

She felt happier at the moment than any other since leaving the Free Marches.

"I'll take this girl back to the stables and let you get on with your duties, Herald."

There was a lightness about her, as she watched them go, a mood that she had forgotten she could even feel.

She took the steps into Haven quickly, even managing to smile politely at the people who insisted on bowing to her instead of cringing and ducking her head.

"Excuse me, I've got a message for the Inquisition but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me."

An accent she'd never come across drew her attention more than the words themselves. It came from a human clad in crestless armour standing patiently outside of the Chantry.

"I'd be happy to take the message." She said politely, before thinking that she should probably find out who this person was first. "Who are you though, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull's Charger's Mercenary Company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra." The armoured man said like she should have heard of the name. "We've got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander the Iron Bull offers the information free of charge."

He seemed awfully polite for a mercenary, and well put together too. From what she understood mercenaries where usually foul mouthed and only ever loyal to whomever held the fattest purse. Kind of like the sailors whom she had met on the voyage across the Waking Sea.

"If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

It seemed like a deal almost too good to be true. Surely there had to be a catch somewhere?

"Why would your boss give up that information for free?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking into a hip.

The man seemed neither surprised nor affronted by the pointed question.

"Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition. He thinks you're doing good work." Cremisius shrugged. "We're the best you'll find. Come to the Storm Coast, and you can see us in action."

His casualness hinted at a quiet confidence that she took to mean he truly believed that. And for such a supposedly prestigious company to go out of their way to seek the Inquisition out…well, this Iron Bull might have truly wanted to offer his help.

It certainly seemed like it was worth taking into consideration.

"Who's that then?" Sera asked coming to stand behind her, both women watching the mercenary walk away.

"A mercenary. Says he works for an Iron Bull."

"Iron Bull? What kind of stupid name is that?"

The kind meant to attract wealthy clients and inspire fear, probably.

"It seems these chargers want to offer their services to the Inquisition."

Sera shrugged.

"Why not, eh? Not like it can any weirder round here anyhow. I mean that Solas pretty much takes the crazy cookie, yeah? That's what happens when you live in the woods for like a hundred years. Not to mention all that fade…stuff. Drives you round the bend, that does."

The other elf made a circular motion at her temple and snickered at her own joke before she turned and headed down towards the tavern.

"Later, your ladyship" Sera threw over her shoulder.

The storm coast? That sounded…wet. And unpleasant.

Why couldn't they go somewhere warm?

Even the Hinterlands were only temperate rather than truly hot.

Her thoughts turned to the Ferelden heartland.

She still needed to find the Grey Warden that Leliana had asked her to track down.

Maybe they could heard out to the Storm Coast via the Hinterlands, there was still a few things they had to do in the area. Varric had come to her with an itch to get rid of the red lyrium in the area and Solas had told her there was some sort of Elven artifact that might help them with the rifts.

Then there was the invitation to Redcliffe that Grand Enchanter Fiona had extended to the Inquisition in Val Royeaux.

However, her meeting with the mages could wait just a little longer. These Chargers sounded like they were worth checking out. It things went bad with the rifts or the Templars decided to do something rash, the Inquisition would certainly be able to make use of the additional firepower.

She headed round the back of the houses to the right of the Chantry. The snow was soft underfoot now, Haven hadn't seen a fresh fall in days, and thus it lay thinly on the ground. The afternoon sun shone bright but cold, as always.

Quickly nipping in to check on Adan, she handed him the notes she had found in Taigen's old cabin outside of the village walls. The grumpy alchemist accepted them with all of his usual grace and was full of only compliments for the man who had improved some sort of formula.

She would have to take Adan's word that 'the old codger was on the edge of a breakthrough' but hadn't been able to see it. She would never admit it but she could swear that the man almost sounded a little bit excited when he offered to mix up whatever she needed.

It was an odd sight.

Solas was standing by his usual spot when she exited the alchemist's home. Admittedly, it did offer an excellent view of the breach. The tear across the sky was almost pretty when there wasn't waves of angry demons falling out of it.

She rubbed absently at the mark with her thumb.

"Is the fade different around the breach and the rifts? On the other side of the veil, I mean." She asked quietly as she took up a spot at his side.

"The fade reflects reality, just as in this world things become more chaotic the closer one is to a rift."

"Most spirits will try to avoid them, content to be as they are. But others are drawn to them by curiosity, only to find themselves pulled through a rift against their will." Solas explained. "The shock of such a transition it changes them, makes demons of them."

It sounded horrible, what Solas described. To have your very essence, the thing that makes you what you are, warped against your will until you are something unrecognisable. Something monstrous.

She could scarcely imagine how awful such a thing must be.

"That's sad." A whisper, laced with melancholy.

Silence met her words and she turned her head to find him looking down at her. His face was mostly passive but his eyebrows were drawn slightly. He looked at her the way she imagined he looked at something he found where it should not be. Confused, almost.

"What?" She asked as she fought the urge to fidget under his gaze. The need to worry her bottom lip was almost overwhelming as those blue eyes searched her face.

"Most people would have little sympathy for a spirit." He said simply, turning back to look at the Breach, seemingly satisfied with whatever he found in her face.

"Just because they're different from us and we understand little about them…well most of us anyway." She said, throwing him a small smile. "It doesn't mean they deserve any less consideration than anyone else affected by the breach."

He considered her words, looking thoughtfully towards the sundered and swirling sky.

"Indeed, though most would still disagree with such an opinion."

"How is your hand?" Solas asked, turning to face her properly.

"Good." She smiled before clearing her throat quietly. "I never did thank you properly for what you did that night."

"Thank you, Solas. Truly." She said with utmost sincerity, green eyes holding blue.

"You are welcome." He said, mouth curling at one corner. "I assume from the fact that the dark circles have disappeared that you are sleeping properly once more?"

Lifting her hand, she ran her fingertips over the delicate skin below her eyes.

She hadn't known they had been that obvious.

"I am." She nodded, shifting her weight. "The dreams are…less frequent. Whatever it was you gave me, it seems to be working."

Nightmares would have been a more accurate description for what happened in her sleep moments but he didn't need to know that. He'd helped her a great deal already, giving her back her sleep.

"I am pleased to hear it."

The smile was back. Barely there but warming nonetheless.

It suited him.

"I'm getting distracted." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts. "Leliana wants us to find a Grey Warden that's recruiting in the Hinterlands. I was thinking we could go and locate that Elven Artifact you told me about."

"Yes. Locating it may prove useful in dealing with the rifts, the sooner we can find it the better for everyone living in the area."

"Okay. We leave at first light then."

"I will be ready."

As she left him to tell Varric and Cassandra they were heading back to the Hinterlands, she found her thoughts occupied by the quiet elf's smile, and how she could see more of it.


End file.
